Arthur loomed like a walking catastrophe across the barren expanse of the Scorching Badlands. His vast, scaled form, spanning seventy-five feet from head to tail, cast an immense shadow over the cracked, scorched ground. Each step sent shivers through the earth, the hardened surface splintering into fractured lines, radiating outward as if fleeing from his presence. The Cursed Crown hummed in his massive claws, its vibration carrying a resonance that gnawed at his core. The weight of the crown, though negligible to his colossal strength, felt almost alive, as if it wanted him to plunge deeper into the twisted landscape.
The Badlands stretched around him, an expanse of warped, crimson rock formations and crumbling mesas that seemed to leer and curve as he passed, resembling leering faces frozen in silent agony. It was as if the land itself were writhing under some unseen curse. His deep, thrumming breaths vibrated the air, each exhale carrying the scent of sulfur and burnt rock. The ever-present warmth of his Obsidian Skin, now resonating with the heat of the Scorching Badlands, glowed with a faint shimmer, absorbing and redirecting the heat around him.
A message blared in his mind from the System, an echo with a tone darker than usual:
"Something wicked this way comes."
The words reverberated within his thoughts, their weight more than a warning—almost a curse, coiling itself around his consciousness like a barbed chain. A tremor of unease coursed through his vast, hardened body, as if the Badlands themselves had issued a challenge. Every distant peak, every canyon, seemed to watch him with malignant interest, as if awaiting his next move.
A flicker of memory clawed its way from his mind’s depths: blurred visions of towering structures from a world he could no longer remember, faces frozen in fear, landscapes bending under incomprehensible power. Yet, as quickly as they appeared, the images faded, leaving nothing but an aftertaste of forgotten dread. Arthur bared his fangs in a silent snarl, frustrated by the ephemeral memories. His gaze, fierce and unyielding, swept across the horizon. Whatever awaited him, he would face it with the unyielding might of a beast forged in destruction.
His Aura of Dread simmered around him, a dark haze radiating from his obsidian-armored form. It seeped into the surroundings, infecting the air with a suffocating sense of foreboding. Even the distant, unseen creatures of the Badlands recoiled, their primitive instincts urging them to stay hidden, to avoid the towering beast at all costs.
Yet something persisted—a relentless sensation that someone, or something, was watching him. Arthur’s yellow eyes narrowed as his Psychic senses stretched outward, his horns thrumming with faint pulses of telekinetic energy. The mental waves brushed against unseen presences, cold and silent, beyond his vision but disturbingly close. He swung his head from side to side, but only the twisted shadows of rock formations met his gaze.
A pulse of destructive energy crackled within him, his Destruction Pulse responding to his unease. It radiated outward in low-frequency shockwaves, disintegrating the brittle ground beneath his feet. Fissures widened, splitting the already broken landscape as though his very presence fractured reality itself. Each pulse left behind a faint echo of destruction, lingering in the scorched earth.
The System remained ominously silent, as if withholding information on purpose. Another message flashed before him, more a whisper than a command:
"Beware… the Second Child awakens."
Arthur’s horns flickered with destructive energy, thin, orbiting Destructo Beams spinning around them in a menacing, slow rotation. The beams pulsed with deadly intensity, absorbing the ambient destruction energy that permeated the Badlands. The sight alone would have terrified any onlookers; they spun and twisted like predatory eyes, seeking targets, seeking something to unleash their stored fury upon.
He moved with measured patience, every clawed step calculated and deliberate. His Aquatic Swiftness, though unnecessary in this arid landscape, had gifted him an unmatched agility even on land, allowing him to navigate the broken terrain with unnerving silence despite his size. But the silence felt wrong here, oppressive, unnatural.
Finally, as he crested a jagged rise, the remnants of a forsaken settlement came into view. Ruined structures lay scattered, their skeletal frames jutting out from the ground in unnatural poses, twisted and scorched as though something had seared their very souls. Bone structures, eerily arranged, stood as silent sentries, each one facing the same direction—a looming peak, dark and jagged, piercing the blood-red sky.
Arthur’s deep, guttural growl rumbled through the air, sending a ripple of energy over the settlement. His Aura of Dread expanded, swallowing the entire area in a shroud of cold fear. The silence of the settlement deepened, as if even echoes feared to intrude.
A ghostly sensation trailed down his spine, chilling even the molten core within his scaled form. Instinctively, he tensed, his head whipping around, teeth bared, horns raised and glowing with raw psychic energy. His senses flared, but he saw nothing, only the empty, twisted landscape, its silence mocking him.
Then he heard it—a voice, soft, barely more than a whisper, riding the stagnant wind. Words too faint to decipher, but laced with malice, slithered into his mind. The presence that had been watching him finally made itself known, an unseen thing lurking just beyond his senses.
Arthur’s maw opened, a guttural roar tearing free, the sound so powerful it rattled the bones arranged in the settlement, causing several to collapse in heaps. His Destruction Pulse activated, releasing a concentrated blast that shattered the air, dissipating the lingering echo of the voice. But as the pulse faded, the silence returned, heavier, more suffocating, as if the land itself mocked his show of power.
Another message from the System punctured the silence:
"You are not alone."
His gaze snapped back to the distant peak. The Second Child. He knew, somehow, that the being awaited him, biding its time. He didn’t know what form it would take, but he could feel its latent energy—a dark, twisted power resonating with the cursed essence of the Badlands. The Cursed Crown vibrated with an eagerness that seemed almost alive, its energy melding with the dark anticipation thickening in the air.
But Arthur wasn’t deterred. If the Second Child wanted him to come, he would oblige. This was his dominion now, a kingdom of twisted lands and cursed remnants that resonated with his own essence. The unknown would not deter him. It only fueled his resolve.
He advanced once more, each step resonating with the call of destruction that simmered in his core, his Void Core drinking in the ambient energy, the cracked essence within yearning to be whole. He moved through the settlement, the twisted skeletons standing as silent witnesses to his journey, their hollow sockets seeming to follow him, watching as he passed. He returned their gaze with a smoldering glare of his own, the Destructo Beams orbiting around his head like sentinels ready to unleash ruin.
Suddenly, he felt a surge of foreign energy ripple beneath his feet. His massive claws gripped the earth, and he sensed it—a buried rune beneath the ground, faint but unmistakable. It pulsed with a residual magic, a seal meant to imprison, to contain something old and powerful. Whatever had been bound here was gone now, its remnants echoing only in the twisted shapes and lingering aura of terror.
Arthur’s growl deepened, a rumbling promise of devastation. He understood that he was treading on haunted grounds, a place that had once been the prison for something unspeakable. And yet, whatever had been confined was gone, leaving behind only a bitter taste of ancient hatred and vengeance.
With one last look around the forsaken settlement, Arthur turned toward the distant peak. His senses sharpened, attuned to the heartbeat of destruction that guided him. The path was clear, the whispers had ceased, but their warning remained etched into his mind.
This land was cursed, and he was the curse-bearer. The Second Child awaited, and as he moved forward, the fractured earth seemed to bow beneath his weight, as if acknowledging his reign. Whatever foul presence lay ahead would soon face the wrath of a beast born from the heart of destruction.
A gust of wind swept through the settlement, carrying with it the faint scent of decay. Arthur’s nostrils flared, his golden eyes narrowing as he felt a presence brushing against his mind once more—a phantom touch, brief but unmistakable. The whisper returned, a single word echoing through the scorched air:
"Come."
He let loose a roar, a challenge to the silent void, the mountains themselves trembling at the sound. And then, he surged forward, the ground quaking with each step, determined to face the Second Child that lay in wait.
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For he knew, in the core of his being, that whatever wickedness lay ahead, it would yield to him—or burn beneath his fury.
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